


bought and paid for

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Dubious Consent, Extra Treat, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sexual Slavery, Size Kink, That Becomes Consensual, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-26 15:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: “You truly are beautiful.” Thor's voice plunges even deeper. “I suppose...gods, I suppose this could be worse.”





	bought and paid for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).

> Happy AUEx, lionessvalenti!

“Alright already, I’ll take one. What do you mean ‘which one’? I don’t care, just gimme one. Low end, I ain’t paying for one of the hot shots, got it?”

Rocket should be long gone by now, but this trash jungle is a maze. Groot still isn’t back from scouting the hangar bay, and Rocket's stuck waiting.

Sakaar should be an easy hit. Junkpile like this, who’s going to miss one top of the line cruiser? They say the guy who runs this joint is millions of years old. Rocket doesn’t know about all that, but he does know that the Grandmaster has some weird-ass tastes.

For one, who builds a palace on a pile of garbage? Rocket smells it from outside even with wafts of peony-sunshine spurting around the lounge.

Two, the aesthetic of this place gives off creepy playschool vibes. It’s like some kid couldn’t decide what color he liked best, so he decided to make his castle All the Colors. Rocket’s retinas are about to fry out of his skull. If Groot doesn’t hurry his bark-ass up, Rocket may need that fake eyeball he snuck off Contraxia.

Three, it takes a special kind of asshole to surround himself with so much sex. Rocket’s been in some seedy spots, emphasis on the ‘seed’. But Sakaar needs five-hundred scrub downs with the strongest soap on the market.

Rocket’s not big on public displays, but he’s all for free love and humping. That includes the blue tentacled thing that slithered by five minutes ago. It turned its lightbulb eyes and gave Rocket a look over. Rocket shook his head so fast he got a crick in the neck. Not Rocket's thing. But hey, if those many arms find willing holes to plug, more power to them both.

Four, it takes an extra special kind of douchebag to sell living things to the highest bidder.

From what Rocket’s heard about the Grandmaster, the guy is all about free market trade. Sounds good until one realizes living stuff’s considered collateral around these parts. Rocket caught a champion’s bout on Sakaar once, it was pretty cool. But the sex stuff? Eh. Even an old, nasty Elder of the Universe has to make a living. Doesn’t mean Rocket wants some beat-up sex toy forced on him by salestypes wearing too much glitter.

But whatever. Rocket gives in because his blinged out auctioneer is annoying. The faster he goes away, the faster Rocket can get on with waiting for Groot. And whatever he happens to buy? If it’s gross, Rocket can shoot it. If it’s decent enough, Rocket can sell it at the next tradepost. Harmless.

Rocket realizes he over-simplified his options when they dump his parcel next to him. The guy is humongous, and he’s got enough oil on his muscles to shine the cruiser Rocket and Groot want to steal. He has skin for days. Thick pecs and bulging thighs. The only thing keeping him modest is a strip of cloth around his waist. The fabric doesn’t even cover half his thighs. If Rocket tipped over a smidge, he’d get the whole show.

It’s not like his new buddy is trying to close the curtains. His cuffed arms latch like magnets to his seat, and they've chained and locked his ankles. But he has enough freedom to smush his legs together and hide any chance of anyone seeing under the cloth. Instead, Rocket’s new property sits with legs wide open. He also looks mad as hell, which Rocket can respect.

Definitely not here of his own free will. He’s got one of those prisoner-bolts latched to his neck. He’s also wearing a collar with a big silver ring. A metal chain latched to the ring slithers down his chest like a snake. They've cropped his hair short. It's uneven, looks like a hatchet job.

“I’m going to _kill_ Loki,” the guy grumbles. “For good this time.” Whatever that means.

Good news, the big guy doesn’t want to be here, same as Rocket. It’s a fact Rocket is more than happy to use. He waves to get his new piece’s attention. “Hey, you.”

Hard, blue eyes snap in his direction. Rocket raises a soothing hand. The guy's restraints don't matter, Rocket doesn’t trust the make of anything in this funhouse. "Listen, hot shot. I’m kinda in the middle of something here," Rocket explains. "Could you...do what you’re supposed to or something?”

His suggestion gets narrowed eyes. “Do what I’m supposed to?”

“Yeah, you know.” Rocket shrugs. “Lie there and look pretty? I’m waiting on someone. If it goes right, I’m getting off this dumpster a lot richer than I got in. And you can go kill whoever you want, how’s that sound?”

Rocket isn’t sure how it sounds to his merchandise, but his suspicion softens a bit. The guy forces out a breath. Slab of meat like him must have one hell of a temper.

“I mean no offense, friend,” the guy says. “You’re quite beautiful.”

Which, ok, that's the last thing Rocket expects to come out of anyone’s mouth. Especially when that ‘anyone’ looks like some statue carved out of rock.

“I just really should not be here,” the guy continues. “My homeland is being threatened by a powerful evil being. Who also happens to be my sister. She cast me here, and at this very moment she is invading my planet. But I cannot get there because I lost my hammer. And my strength has been locked away by this vile creature known as the Grandmaster.”

Rocket doesn’t have a clue about evil sisters or hammers. But from what Rocket’s heard about the Grandmaster, ‘vile creature’ sounds about right. “What’s a Loki?” Rocket asks.

“My brother,” the guy says. “And I wish to kill him. Or throttle him a bit. I've yet to decide.”

“That’s some family tree you got there,” Rocket remarks. He gets a snort of agreement. “And what do I call you?”

“Thor,” the guy answers. “God of Thunder.”

God. Right.

So, this Thor guy is either one of the most powerful creatures in the universe, or he’s a little nuts. But Rocket can relate to wanting to throttle people. He decides this is an arrangement that will work for the time being. Assuming Groot ever gets back so they can steal their ship and be on their way.

“Thor. Cool.” Rocket glances at the doorway. Still no Groot. This is the last time he trusts a tree on a job like this. “How ‘bout this, Thor? You lie there and don’t cause a scene and we can work out something after this. Get you back on your way to your, uh, sister-occupied planet.”

A look confirms that Thor won’t be stirring up trouble anytime soon, but not by his own choice. The thing on Thor’s neck is...buzzing? Its outer rim takes on a soft, red pulse. Thor’s arms and legs pin him in place, but he’s gone slack against the seat. Back curled, neck tipped against the chair. A light sheen of sweat rises to his forehead. His eyelids flutter like he’s seeing something behind them.

Rocket’s seen these gross neck bolts in action before, but this is different from the rapid fire spasms he’s used to. Those will knock a rowdy inmate on their ass if they get out of line.

Or - wait, the glittery sales guy told Rocket not to call them inmates. Slaves, right? Or, no. Prisoners with jobs. That’s it.

Whatever Thor is going through is softer than that taser setting. His lips pop open like he’s surprised. Rocket scans down his body. There’s a real nice looking bulge making the fabric around Thor's waist tent up.

“Uh.” Rocket frowns. “Thor? You good?”

The lights turn down in the lounge. Tall, metal drapes clank over the windows, blocking out the glare from the sun outside. Blue mood spots replace the natural light. A deep, pulsing bass makes Rocket’s seat shiver. But it isn’t enough to drown out the sound of heavy breathing around them. Shifting clothes and sighs into skin.

“What the hell?” Rocket gawks. Sure, this place turns into a sex pit sometimes. But Rocket thought a drop smack in the middle of the day would be safe. Guess not.

Thor turns towards Rocket as if suddenly remembering Rocket exists. His eyes look glass-sharp even in this light. “You truly are beautiful.” Thor's voice plunges even deeper. “I suppose...gods, I suppose this could be worse.”

“Uh.”

So, Rocket’s done a lot of shady shit. And he’s enjoyed most of it. A thing doesn’t get stapled together like Rocket and care much about right or wrong after. Rocket likes being warm, fed, and paid. After some time riding the skies together, Rocket started to care whether Groot had the same. Whatever it takes to get them there? Skin off Rocket’s teeth. Everyone else in this universe is out to get theirs, why shouldn’t Rocket?

But this is freaking gross.

Not Thor. Thor’s the opposite of gross. But that makes it weirder, this piece of ass Rocket couldn’t get in a million cycles looking at Rocket like a prize. “I’m busy,” Rocket tells Thor lamely. “So...I don't know, deal with it. You’re a big boy.”

“Yes,” Thor agrees, voice like sandpaper. “Quite big.” When he swallows, the collar around his neck bobs. The chain draped down his chest shivers. He closes his eyes. “You’re one very noble rabbit.”

“Rabbit?” Rocket echoes. He blinks and frowns. “Wait, _noble_?”

“I know a proud leader when I see one - mmm.” Thor smiles, which is distracting enough on its own. Then, his waist rises and falls, and Rocket loses even more focus. “May I have a hand?”

“A hand?” Rocket asks.

It takes him a moment to remember the stupid pep talk his gold salesman gave him. The controller at his side, to provide - what’d he call it? Greater range of movement or something? Rocket fumbles for the thing, a slim rectangular box tucked into his seat. It only has three buttons, one on either side and the third at the bottom. The two side buttons seem clear enough. Left hand, right hand. “Got it. A hand.” He clicks the left button.

Thor’s left hand pops off its rest, free to move. With a groan, Thor lets his fingers delve between his thighs. There’s no way for him to touch himself without hiking the fabric up to obscene territory. Rocket steals an eyeful. Thor's cock fills his own hand like a lead pipe.

Thor's head dips back. “_Yes_,” he hisses. “Gods, yes, this will work.”

So much for a lack of distractions. The chorus of moans and shifting clothes rises around them. The scent of the air grows thick with more than peony-sunshine. “Uh,” Rocket risks another peek. “Does your hand not work usually?”

“For those who don’t sell.” The words trip off Thor’s tongue. He looks at Rocket, a shine from licking on his lips.

Bonkers as this all is, Rocket can’t help the answering pang in his gut. He may be a trash panda, but even furry freaks have eyes and noses and other parts that sense and feel and want.

“It’s not as- it’s not _satisfying_.” The last word drags out of Thor, long and rough. The buzzing resumes from the bolt on Thor’s neck. His eyes roll back, and his knees open wider. “Oh...Norns, it’s...it’s the feeling, but no relief.”

Thor shifts on his chair, face strained. He’s a mess of sounds - gasps and grunts and low, startled moans. Rocket wonders if he’s this loud all the time, or if this is a special occasion courtesy of the thing in his neck.

Then, he wonders why he’s thinking about what the guy sounds like when he has sex off-hours. Stupid peony-sunshine perfume, stupid thumping bass and blue moodlighting. Rocket is starting to lose it.

“Tell me about you,” Thor says. “While you- while you wait for your friend.”

“I don’t want to tell you about me,” Rocket mumbles. Some weird, uncomfortable feeling twists in his chest.

“About your adventures then,” Thor presses. His words choke in his throat. “You must have stories, you have- you have the look of one who’s been on many quests.” Thor’s waist bobs off the chair. The fabric he wears is useless now, scrunched up around his hips. Thor’s exposed cock is so damn huge, Rocket wonders how it was ever hidden by his stupid cloth in the first place.

“You,” Rocket can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice, “want to get off on stories?”

Batshit insane as this all is, Thor actually nods. “Yes.” Rocket isn’t sure if the sound is more word or moan. “I love quests. I want to hear you speak.”

“You want to hear me speak,” Rocket echoes, brow raised. Thor’s eyes are all pupil, low-lidded and hungry. “Uh-huh. Anything else you want?”

Thor’s laugh comes with a thick, throat-catching hitch. “I want you in my mouth,” he says.

Rocket eyes him. “Get the fuck out. That’s the thing in your neck talking.”

Thor shakes his head like the motion takes a lot of strength. ”I want you in my mouth,” he repeats. His tongue sweeps across his lips. Rocket’s overalls immediately fit tighter. “You’re so small.”

“Yeah right,” Rocket snorts.

“I’ve never held one as small as you in my mouth,” Thor may as well be salivating, hungry as he sounds. He squeezes his hand around that gigantic cock of his. “Gods, I want that.” His eyelids flutter. After a moment, he frowns, a corner of his lips shuddering. “But you don’t.” Thor squeezes his eyes shut, and squeezes himself again. His groan comes out short and tense. “You don’t want that. You want- you want to find your friend. Forgive me.”

Rocket shrugs. Stupid as it is, he feels himself deflate. “Hey, it’s not like you can help it.”

Thor blows out a labored breath. His dazed stare floats up to the ceiling. “Makes me- it’s so hard to not- anything I want, it makes me- Tell me a quest story, at least.” His nipples are the size of berries and Rocket finds the urge to nibble on them almost too strong to ignore. What the hell is going on. Rocket knows he has a job to do, he _knows_ he’s waiting for Groot, but he can’t stop staring. Or feeling. Or wanting.

“You get off on story time, huh?” Rocket prods.

“I want your voice,” Thor says. “I can’t recall a voice with such honesty in so very long, rabbit. I want you to speak to me, I want- you are far too noble a leader for anything else. I understand. Let me hear you instead.” Thor’s hand twists through curls wiry-thick at the base of his cock.

They’re going to have to work on this ‘rabbit’ thing. Also, he and Groot have to work on this ‘timing’ thing. If Groot had been here by now, none of this would be happening!

So, this is all Groot’s fault. If the dumbass piece of lumber walks in now, he’s only got himself to blame for his retinal scarring. The room is ablaze with breaths and groans. Skin shifting and wet sounds that tickle Rocket’s spine like fingers.

All Rocket is is some furry freak show. It’s not like he's built to do the right thing when everyone else’s doing wrong.

“You like my voice, huh?” Rocket tugs on the chain hanging from Thor’s neck. “Cool. I’ll let you hear it some more.”

Thor shudders like this is the hottest suggestion he’s ever heard. Which can't be true, but hey, maybe the god-guy has had a pathetic life to this point. Not Rocket’s problem. Rocket’s had a pathetic life too, pathetic enough that he thinks he’s earned this stroke of luck.

Thor dips down in his chair. With his right arm and ankles still latched to his seat, he can’t spread out too far. But he does manage to slump enough that Rocket has room to climb. And climb Rocket does, using the chain leash to rappel. He scales Thor’s insane body, careful not to slip on all the oil Thor’s dressed in. Rocket imagines the Grandmaster's weirdos lathering Thor’s skin.

The shifting of Thor’s hand quickens behind Rocket. Thor’s eyes fix on him, blue and blown out. The guy doesn't looks conscious.

Rocket settles himself against Thor’s shoulder. The muscle is warm and firm. With a grin, Rocket murmurs in Thor’s ear. “So, what do you want to hear?” he asks.

Thor shivers under him. “A quest,” he whispers, turning towards Rocket. “Tell me about your adventures. You’re a space wanderer, I can tell. I want to hear you speak.”

“I mean, yeah, I could. I’ve got all kinds of adventures.” Rocket buffs nails on his overalls. “I’m kind of a badass. Me and my man Groot, we get ourselves in all types of trouble. Barely get out with our lives half the time. Big time hero stuff.”

Maybe the room is too loud, but Rocket can't hear Thor breathe. He does have Thor’s attention though, dark eyes sitting on him with interest.

“But I was thinking,” Rocket continues, “I sort of want to tell you what to do instead.”

Now, Rocket hears him - a gasp that sounds painful sucked down. Thor's flushed cheek bumps against Rocket's side. "Go on," he rasps.

Something warm and soupy sloshes through Rocket’s gut. Forget being lucky, this is starting to tip into life-jackpot territory. “Well, first I want you to take that stupid cloth all the way off. It’s blocking the view.”

One-handed, Thor undoes the knot at his side holding the cloth in place. He peels it off, letting the fabric drape off the edge of the chair. Rocket could see plenty with the cloth still on, but it’s a way better view now. No bunch of fabric hiding the severe dents of Thor’s pelvis or the muscular swell of his hips. His cock arches up towards his belly, but now Rocket can see how heavy his balls are. Blushed warm and settled on his thighs.

“Now,” Rocket says, “I want you to lick your hand. Get it all nice and wet, so you can get yourself off proper.”

Thor’s exhale shudders off his lips. He raises his hand and drags his tongue from palm to fingers. Eagerly, he repeats the motion, his skin shining and damp. Thor eyes are barely visible, a flush of enjoyment on his cheeks. He wasn’t kidding about liking something in his mouth. Wet as his hand is already, he takes his time, only stopping after his tongue dips between every finger.

“Start at the base,” Rocket says, snout to Thor’s ear. “Nice and slow.”

Thor wraps fingers around the base of his shaft. Then, one slow pump all the way to the head. Thor’s hips rock off the chair. His moan makes Rocket’s ears twitch.

“Again,” Rocket says. Thor obeys. “Again.” Thor repeats. “Again.”

Pleasure clenches through Thor’s legs. His stomach flexes, and his tongue drags over his lips. Rocket runs a hand flat down the front of his overalls.

This isn’t something he does; yeah, Rocket’s had sex, but he’s not this comfortable with it. He’s a freak, and freaks like getting in and out with as little attention as possible. Rocket’s good at shirking attention. It’s why he’s a damn good thief. No one thinks anything of him.

But sitting on the shoulder of some dude he’s just met, in a room full of sex-crazed loonies, Rocket has to stroke himself. His cock pushes up against his clothes. He grinds his hand on it, makes his legs kick out with spasms of good feelings.

Thor swings his heavy head over. “I want you in my mouth,” he says.

“Last I checked, I was telling you what I want, not the other way around,” Rocket mumbles.

He isn’t ready for Thor’s face nuzzling deep against his side. Even with clothes in the way, the bump of Thor’s nose makes new sensation spill down Rocket’s spine.

“I want you in my mouth.” So says the maybe-god Rocket bought and paid for. Rocket purchased an idiot. A hot idiot though, and real convincing, with lips nuzzling Rocket’s clothes. “Please?” Thor says. “I am far more worthy than your hand.”

“If you say ‘pretty please,’ I’m leaving you with the vile creature,” Rocket grumbles. With a huff, he unsnaps his overalls and shimmies his way out of them. He’s all fur and metal, and his cock pokes out from behind the fabric, smaller than Thor’s smallest finger. Thor goes cross-eyed trying to see Rocket from his angle. Rocket glares and braces himself.

“So small,” Thor breathes. It takes every ounce of self-control for Rocket not to smack him in the face.

The only reason he refrains? Because Thor’s face looks as awed as his voice sounds. His eyes drag down Rocket’s body like a meandering walk, taking his sweet time, slurping up every inch. “You’ll have to climb up here,” Thor says. “I can’t reach you.”

Rocket blinks. “You still want this?”

“Yes.” The word is a sigh, husky and slow. “I want you in my mouth when I come.” His large body shifts, hips pumping towards his own hand. “Please,” he says again. “I want that so much.”

A guy who looks like Thor must get what he wants a lot, despite his current prisoner-with-job status. Rocket has no reason to say no, other than thinking it's weird that anyone wants to mouth at his stupid little prick.

But cool, Thor’s a freak. So is Rocket. Looks like Rocket spent his money better than he realized.

Rocket grabs hold of Thor’s leash and scales Thor’s collarbone. Thor’s throat bobs anxiously under his collar. He holds Rocket’s eyes, smoldering blue. Rocket plants his feet on Thor’s chest, hovering over him. His erection sticks out, pink and eager.

Thor knows exactly where he’s lined up. His lips go slack. Wet and red, ready to be fucked. It’s an invitation Rocket isn’t about to turn down.

Thor’s mouth is moist and warm. Soft but so strong, and eager right from the start. From the moment Rocket plunges in, Thor is dragging on Rocket like a pipe. Rocket has to clamp hands in Thor’s hair to keep his knees from giving way. “Easy,” he yelps, “_easy_. I haven’t - shit - it’s been awhile, you jackass!”

Thor doesn’t seem to care. His suckling keeps up like a baby who refuses to get full. Thor’s groans of pleasure shudder through Rocket’s belly. Rocket claws at his scalp and juts towards his mouth.

Thor wasn’t kidding. He looks orgasmic. His eyes glaze like warm sugar as he works Rocket between his lips. Rocket hears wet sounds as Thor fucks his own hand. Must look crazy to anyone walking by, huge thing like Thor nursing on a little monster like Rocket.

But hey, it’s Sakaar. Someone in the room with them is screaming in utter delight. The tentacled thing who propositioned Rocket found itself someone with plenty of orifices. There’s things with lots of teeth. Other things with vaginas big as their torso. Many tongues and more than one head and taller than Thor or smaller than Rocket.

In the middle of it all, Rocket’s got a maybe-god moaning around his peanut prick. This isn’t luck. This is legendary.

Rocket almost collapses when his orgasm wrings out of him. He has fists tight in Thor’s hair, weight braced on his face. He’s moaning into the hacked off blonde strands, toes curled tight enough to leave nail marks in Thor’s chest. Rocket is on pins and needles.

Thor growls like a satisfied lion. The blue of his eyes flashes between his lashes. Thor’s deep breath makes the fur on Rocket’s stomach warm. Then, he curls his lips around Rocket and drags.

“Fuck- fuck- oh fuck!” The final curse comes out high-pitched and cracking. Rocket stumbles forward. It’s impossible, it’s _nuts_, but he’s spilling all over again. Soaking Thor’s tongue, draining with a train of spasms that bump Rocket up against Thor’s greedy mouth. Black spots swim in front of Rocket’s eyes.

Thor’s whole body rises under him, a shift forward that almost makes Rocket lose his balance. Thor’s moan vibrates through Rocket’s entire body. His eyes close completely. Under Rocket, he sags, his smiling mouth popping free with a pleased sigh.

Rocket’s limbs feel like wet rags. The last thing he ever does is stick around after a fuck, but all he’s good for at the moment is melting against Thor’s face. “You dick,” Rocket slurs. “Didn’t say you could do me twice.”

“Mmm.” Thor rubs his lips through the fur of Rocket’s belly. “Next time, I’ll double that.”

Around them, the tension of the room simmers to final grunts and groans and sighs. From one corner, Rocket hears a snore.

“Next time, huh?” Rocket lifts his head to look at Thor.

Thor smiles against his stomach. “You purchased my services, did you not? If you assist me in getting back to my homeland, the service I’ll give you in return, dear rabbit...” His words trail off in a low laugh. “Oh, the service I’ll give you.”

Desire shivers through every inch of Rocket. “That’s blackmail,” he protests.

“Mmhm,” Thor agrees, and his smile grows to a grin. They both know he’s got Rocket - hook, line, and sinker.

Rocket is happy to let his mind wander until a cleared throat catches his attention. He lifts his groggy head. The sound is coming from the doorway. In this light, the entrance looks pitch black, save a splinter of muted brown. And one single marble eyeball gawking at them.

“I am Groot,” comes a whisper from the doorway.

“Son of a bitch,” Rocket mumbles.

***

Newsflash: Sakaar is freaking weird. Rocket can’t wait to rob the place and get the hell out.

The aftermath of Sakaarian orgy parties are super structured. The mood lighting and bass keep up until the last attending member gets off. That’s thoughtful.

The lights turn up, and the music turns down. The peony-sunshine scent becomes something spicier. Rocket’s head feels clearer. Not clear enough to make him move from where he’s splayed across Thor’s shoulder. But enough to make him look out at the rest of the room and realize, with a grimy feeling, exactly what happened. Nothing against any of these weirdos, Rocket doesn’t know them enough to hate them. But Rocket doesn’t know them enough to like them. Yet here he is, buck-ass nude, his mouth-wet dick on display for anyone to see.

To be fair, it doesn’t seem like anyone is looking. Everyone else blinks around in as much of a daze. Rocket feels warm from Thor’s skin on his fur, and from the fingers scratching his back.

Thor seems a bit more lucid. He looks around, unconcerned by his own state of undress. Must be something he’s used to, depending on how long he’s been stuck here. Not Rocket’s problem, but his stomach still churns.

“You’re still good with busting out of here with us, right?” Rocket asks. “I mean, I know you got that deal with your evil sister, but...are we cool?”

Thor glances at him. “We’re so cool,” he replies. Then, he smiles. “Sweet rabbit.”

Rocket huffs and breaks their eye contact. It takes another five minutes for him to realize he should have had a comeback for the ‘rabbit’ thing.

One by one, attendants dressed in all pink see to anyone without a bolt on their neck. They ask about food, drink, and change of clothes if necessary. Rocket turns down all three. He pulls his drowsy body up and retrieves his crumpled overalls.

After them, attendants dressed in blue see to anyone with a bolt in their neck. Prisoners-with-jobs don’t get asked about food and drink. But they do get a change of clothes. Or ‘clothes,’ rather. Thor’s new outfit is as ridiculous as the first. Shorts too trim for his thighs, and a mesh shirt that fits uncomfortably tight. It takes two of the blue attendants to get the thing over Thor’s head. He grumbles the whole while. Rocket, though, must admit that the way his nipples poke through the mesh holes is hot.

“So, this guy’s bought and paid for,” Rocket says, hiking a thumb at Thor. “When’s that thing coming out of his neck?”

“At the exit,” they’re told. “Final inspection.” Whatever that means.

But as the minutes tick on, Rocket begins to understand. As a slow procession starts for the door, guards wait for a final check. In a case or two, the bolt slips off a prisoner’s neck. Looks like it’s remote control operated. Weird thing about the procession - its order isn’t by choice. The pink and blue attendants circle again, this time to direct couples to the door. Pair by pair, or coupling in a few cases, the lounge empties out. Metal covers draw away from the high windows, and sunlight again filters into the room. It’s like the whole thing never happened. Rocket catches Thor squinting at the change in light.

He and Thor are the last two told to head to the door. Funny how that goes.

Seems customary for Rocket to do the leading, so he does, Thor’s chain leash in hand. He gives Thor’s chain a tug, and Thor’s latched arm and legs pop free from the chair. By his sigh, he’s relieved to move of his own volition. Rocket expects Thor to not like being on a leash, especially one held by a thing four times smaller than him. But Thor marches behind Rocket with his head held high. He walks as fancy as his accent, straight-backed and not hesitating to meet anyone in the eye.

Thor mentioned power and evil sisters and invaded homelands. The guy says he’s a god; who knows, maybe he is. But he walks and talks like someone important. Rocket feels a swell just from leading the guy. He carries himself taller, and for once the eyes he feels on him are welcome.

Two guards in gold wait at the door. Rocket jerks a thumb back at Thor. “He’s mine,” he says. “I paid for him. Time for the bolt to come off, let’s go.” The guards exchange a look, and one raises a black remote as if to do just that.

Footsteps hurrying down the hall interrupt them. “Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Rocket knows the voice. But it’s not until sees the gaudy gold sandals and matching robe that Rocket knows what he’s dealing with.

“Aw shit,” Rocket mutters, standing face-to-face with the guy who owns this joint. The Grandmaster’s make-up is as bonkers as his outfit. Blue stripe from lower lip to chin. Eyes done up. Gray hair mussed in a look that screams ‘trying too hard.’

“Rabbit, run,” Thor growls behind him. He’s tensing up, fists balled and rising, ready for a fight.

All at once, Thor plunks down. There’s a seat behind him. Out of nowhere. A metal clamshell seat that Thor’s arms and legs clank against like he’s made of magnets.

“Sparkles, _there_ you are!” the Grandmaster enthuses. “We were worried sick about you! Weren’t we worried sick?” This, he says to the woman at his side. A thicker set, dressed in warrior armor and holding a tall gold-bulbed staff.

The woman turns narrowed eyes first on Thor, then on Rocket. “Sick,” she mutters.

“And to think, we may not have found you if not for my precious Lo-Lo.” The Grandmaster turns a beatific smile over his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Loki? You were fretting so much about your brother! Adopted brother. Whatever. Thank heavens!”

Another person strolls to the Grandmaster’s side. From first glance, Rocket can’t see the family resemblance. Loki’s skin is milk-pale with long, coiffed black hair. But he has the same regal strut as Thor, and the same straightness to his back that says he’s someone important.

But if he’s from the same place, why is he helping out the Grandmaster and not wanting to stop the evil sister takeover?

Families are weird. Case in point, Loki is beaming down at Thor. “I was, and I’m relieved that we were able to reach you in time. To think, the mighty Thor _sold against his will_! What gall. The baseness of a creature that would dare to pull my dear brother around on a leash.” This, he says with his gaze flicked to Rocket. What Rocket wouldn’t give for his blasters.

“Loki,” Thor snarls from his chair. “If you don’t care about what Hela’s done, fine. I’m done reasoning with you. But I will not be-”

Rocket, and everyone else, doesn’t get a chance to hear what Thor won’t be. Out of the blue, he starts spasming in his seat. Currents jolt out from the bolt in his neck, clamping his muscles and making his teeth grit.

“Hey, that's my property!” Rocket barks up at them. “I paid fair and square!”

The buzzing sound stops, and Thor slumps in his chair. He’s breathing hard, eyes rolled back. Sweat breaks out on his brow.

The woman at the Grandmaster’s side holds out the orbed staff. The Grandmaster frowns at her. “What’s this for?”

“Trying to take what belongs to you,” she says.

The Grandmaster shrugs. “I mean, I _could_ but - it’s not like this little fellow knew that. Isn’t that right?” He flashes a big smile down at Rocket. “You didn’t know Sparkles here is one of my personal favorites. How could you? What a mix up! I hate when this happens, I truly do. Aw, Sparkles.” He gives Thor’s head an affectionate tap. Thor, out of it as he looks, manages an admirable scowl.

Whatever’s going on here is way over Rocket’s head. Quickly, Rocket waves behind his back, hopefully in view of the eyes he knows are watching. Whatever Rocket’s mixed up in, he doesn’t want Groot involved in it. Not yet, unless things get real bad.

Rocket finds Loki frowning at him. Rocket ignores him in favor of crossing arms over his chest. “He _was_ one of your favorites,” Rocket tells the Grandmaster. “Before your goons sold him to me. Now he’s mine. I paid fair and square, and I’m keeping him.”

“Aren’t you adorable?” The Grandmaster grins. “I mean, just darling. Don’t you think he’s darling, Lo-Lo?”

“Delightful,” Loki says. His voice cuts like a razorblade.

“Topaz? Pay this sweet thing back his money. Those are hard-earned units. It’s a rough universe out there. Topaz? Are you listening?”

“I would melt him,” Topaz says. Again, she thrusts out the orbed staff. Rocket has no idea what this means, but he inches backwards.

The Grandmaster huffs. “I told you, we can’t go around melting everyone! What kind of business would I be running here if I melted everyone? No business, that’s what kind. Disaster. Hopeless! Now, I said, pay this honey bun. He’s been such a good sport.”

“The gold dude said no refunds,” Rocket snarls up at them.

The Grandmaster laughs. “Oh yes, him! Don’t you ah, don't you worry, he’s been fired. What a silly thing to say. ‘No refunds.’ Imagine that!”

“Fired,” Topaz reiterates with a smirk. She twirls the orbed staff in a nasty, insinuating way.

With a sigh, she punches keys on the arm monitor clasped to her wrist. “Done,” she tells the Grandmaster. “Paid in full.”

“Wonderful.” The Grandmaster claps his manicured hands. “I’m so happy we got that squared away. You’re a real darling.” This, he tells Rocket with a blue-nailed thumbs up. “Sparkles, let’s get you all cleaned up. Lo-Lo sweetheart, would you mind?”

Thor'e chair moves without anyone touching it. “Loki!” Thor hisses, but the seat leads him away without any say from him. Loki grins and gives the Grandmaster a bow before retreating after his brother. The Grandmaster and Topaz leave as well, the Grandmaster’s gold robes swaying with every step.

Rocket glares after them. Two guards at the door block his view. They place hands on their hips, emphasizing their muscled, uncovered arms. Message sent.

Scowling, Rocket stalks in the opposite direction. Back to Groot, who lingers just out of sight. “Idiots,” Rocket hisses to him. He keeps walking, forcing Groot to follow along with his angry steps. “Doesn’t matter,” he grumbles. “You get the codes?”

“I am Groot,” Groot confirms.

“Good. Tonight we’re busting the hell out of this circus. Or in the morning. Maybe-”

“I am Groot?”

Rocket spins around, glowering. “I gotta think, ok? Maybe we need more time.”

“I am Groot,” Groot says knowingly.

Rocket points up at him and scowls. “You shut the hell up. I just met the guy. It’s not our problem.”

He continues down the hallway in a fury. Groot keeps his far taller footsteps slow, letting Rocket march on ahead. The twisting palace hallways finally open to the street. The air is no fresher outside. Sakaar is a dense trash heap of a city. Even with the sun low in the sky, the streets are still blazing hot. Lots of foot traffic with low-grade scavenger cruisers overhead. Vultures looking for scraps. That’s what this whole place is about.

“I am Groot,” Groot says quietly.

Rocket’s ears sink. “I _know_ he would’ve been a good hand on the ship. Why do you think I was fighting to keep him so bad? Cheap labor’s hard to come by! And he didn’t want much, just a ride to take care of his evil sister or something. I don’t know. The guy thought he was a god. Weirdo. Not our problem.”

“I am Groot?” Groot asks.

Rocket kicks at the dusty streets. “Fuck him,” he snarls. “It’s over. We ain’t talking about this no more. I’m serious.”

He feels Groot’s eyes on him.

“Thor, ok?” Rocket’s shoulders slump. “His name’s Thor. You happy now?”

***

Thor sits on the floor of his cell, the circular holding place of all forced to perform for the Grandmaster. There are others with him. The Kronan Korg, his friend Miek, all trapped by simple contraptions fit to their bodies.

Thor's hair is still wet from thorough scrubbing. After this afternoon's events, attendants forced Thor to the Grandmaster’s bathing rooms. There, still bound, he went through the cleansing cycle. Warm baths. Cold baths. Scented oils and cloud-like suds.

In the hours since Thor's return, his fellow captives have been wise enough not to bother him.

Anger washes over Thor in wave after wave. It directs towards certain people at times. The cruel Grandmaster or his vindictive right hand Topaz. His sister. His brother. Himself, too.

Thor feels sadness when he thinks of home, and what may have become of it. In his early days on Sakaar, he was able to reach Heimdall and at least get glimpses of their people. In hiding, yes, frightened, but still alive and protected. But in this past week, Thor has not been able to reach past his own sight to that of Asgard’s eyes. Thor refuses to believe this could be due to Heimdall’s death. It has to be Thor’s own blindness, no doubt caused by the thing in his neck. Heimdall is fine. Their people are fine. But Thor needs to get there soon.

Thor was so close today. So close, and in the most unexpected of ways. He can only hope that the noble rabbit captain managed to escape with his friend. Thor was too weak to protect him, flung into one of the Grandmaster’s slave chairs like a meager toy.

Thor thinks of the rabbit’s body. His fur. His little cock rolled with such ease upon Thor’s tongue.

It has never felt like this before. The Grandmaster forces those in his possession into activities against their wills. At times, this has meant using rusted weapons to try to beat off foes three times his size. At others, this has meant screaming in frustration at his own unsatisfied arousal.

Today, Thor felt and desired, but he could not hold that desire back. Truth dribbled from his mouth like the spittle of a drooling man. He lusted for speech; more of the rabbit’s voice, stories, quests. And he begged for his cock, yearned for it with a hunger he has not felt in so long. Not since he was a foolish boy who thought the power of the throne was worth every bit of his arrogant zealousness.

It’s in part because of him that Loki is as he is today. His brother is well and truly gone, Thor knows this now. But he did not know Loki’s hatred for Asgard itself ran this deep. It is a place Loki yearned to rule, after all, even when he learned the truth of his parentage. A place Loki ruled for years under their father’s guise. A selfish thing. And yet, Loki did not lead Asgard to war and ruin. The people _were_ happy. Under his rule, Asgard prospered.

Why rule in peace, only to sit by as Hela runs their home into the ground?

Thor stares at the adjoining wall. Muted conversation echoes around him. He drowns it out.

But he cannot drown out the loud clash of the cell door ripping off its hinges. It is flung back with little care. Bent low for height, a tree enters. Its strong bark legs plant to the ground. In its hand, it holds a single remote. With the push of a button, the bolt slides off Thor’s neck.

Thor looks between it and the tree. His power surges through his veins, finally unimpeded by the Grandmaster’s lock. Those around him are the same, marveling at discs no longer attached to various body parts.

“I am Groot,” the tree says.

Thor stands to greet him. “I’m Thor,” he answers.

“You speak tree?” Korg asks, hefting himself to his feet behind Thor.

“They taught it on Asgard,” Thor explains, “it was an elective.”

“Ah, yeah, yeah, I get you,” Korg says. “Back home, I dabbled in a bit of iguana myself. Never could get the tongue right. Lots of tongue in iguana.”

“I am Groot,” the tree cuts in. It tosses a long, heavy blaster to Thor.

Thor grins, catching it. “Ah, so you’re rabbit’s friend. Good, yes. Lead the way.” He tosses the blaster back to Korg. “You may need this more than me,” he says. “Big passenger ship in the hangar bay should fit the whole lot, tree says. Patch into frequency 0Z25TY.”

Miek titters the frequency back with excitement.

Korg, meanwhile, cocks the blaster. “The revolution has begun,” he says.

***

The stolen ship waits on a heap of sand and garbage outside town. Alarms blare and sirens flash through the streets of Sakaar. The revolution stirred up by Korg allows Thor and Groot to hit the streets uninterrupted.

Rocket waits on the open ramp, foot tapping the floor. “Second time today you’re late,” he tells Groot. "You miss all the alarms and searchlights and shit?"

“I am Groot,” Groot sniffs. He gives Thor’s shoulder a friendly nudge before climbing up into the ship.

Alone, Rocket looks up at Thor in the dark of Sakaar, lit only by the city’s sirens and the glow of vortexes overhead. “So, I heard the big wormhole hits...Asgard? Is that what your home’s called?”

“It is,” Thor says, sounding surprised.

Rocket shrugs. “Cool. Hits Asgard in a few days, and this ship is top of the line. Won’t get beat up in all that debris. Also, the vortex’s called the Devil’s Anus. I didn’t name it. Just, you know, fyi.”

With a quirked brow, Thor takes in the wide, swirling wormhole. “Well, if I have to adventure into such a place, I’m glad it’s with you,” he says.

“That ain’t as sweet as you think it sounds,” Rocket grumbles. He waves for Thor to follow. “Come on. We got you a present too.”

“A present?” Thor asks, following Rocket up into the ship.

At the top of the ramp, he comes face to face with his brother. Loki sits on a chair and chained from shoulders to feet. Loki smiles when he sees Thor. “Surprise,” he says.

Thor frowns at him.

A second later, he grabs an empty water bottle from a nearby stand and flings it at Loki’s face. It clanks off Loki’s forehead and rolls on the floor.

“Ow,” Loki says.

“Had to be sure,” Thor explains to Rocket’s confused face.

Rocket shrugs. “Whatever. Anyway, if you decide to kill him, just clean up after. And if you want suggestions, this ship’s outfitted pretty good. Lots of options for quick or slow.”

“You’re adorable,” Loki mutters.

“Shut up,” Rocket and Thor say together.

Rocket heads to the cockpit where Groot is already at work keying them up for take off. Thor pushes Loki in his bound seat after them, ignoring the way his brother growls in warning.

With Loki still in his line of sight, Thor continues in. The trash pile that is Sakaar stands before them, its garbage like mountains in the low light.

Thor leans over Rocket’s seat to murmur in his ear. “I intend to keep my promise to you once this is all over,” he says.

Rocket keeps punching keys and adjusting switch alignment on the dash.

It’s not until Thor moves to leave that Rocket grabs the front of his tunic in a hard fist. “Yeah well, I intend to make you,” he says. His tongue darts out, catching Thor’s earlobe.

Thor’s eyes darken with interest.

Rocket grins at him, and back at Thor’s unimpressed brother. “Buckle up, boys,” he says. “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

“I am Groot,” Groot agrees from the co-pilot’s chair.

One button pushed, and a lever pulled. The cruiser lifts off its garbage landing pad and into the sky.


End file.
